


it's a thankless job

by bosspigeon



Series: Chase Kingston: Functional-Passing Disaster [4]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Bonding, Former Delinquent Detective, M/M, Music, Musicals, Sexual Tension, Teasing, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bosspigeon/pseuds/bosspigeon
Summary: Mason learns something pretty… unexpected about the detective.
Relationships: Male Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: Chase Kingston: Functional-Passing Disaster [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131623
Kudos: 12





	it's a thankless job

**Author's Note:**

> Chase doesn't talk about his past much, but he will when asked. Mason's learning quickly that there's much more to the surly detective than meets the eye ;3
> 
> I've been wildly inspired to write lately, and I am going to ride that train as far as it takes me, even if it means I have dumb ideas about my ocs being former theatre kids in the shower.
> 
> Title from “Thankless Job” from, of course, Repo! The Genetic Opera.

Chase doesn’t greet him with more than a curt nod as he comes out of the station, but Mason doesn’t take it personally. Especially not when he gives the detective a very pointed up-and-down look, and he catches the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

They start the walk to Chase’s car, and he glances sideways and up at Mason and raises his eyebrows. “I was heading to the warehouse already,” he says, glancing around. “Anything going on I need to know about?”

Mason fiddles with an unlit cigarette, twirling it between his fingers. “No. Just some whispers of trappers here and there. Got Agent Kingston a bit antsy, so I offered to look after you today.”   
  
The bone-dry side-eye Chase gives him makes him smirk. “Never took you for such an altruist,” he says.

It’s an easy one, really. Mason can’t resist. “Considering all that time I spend on my knees for you, that hurts a bit.”

“We both know you like that as much as I do.” Chase’s dark eyes are intent, bold brows quirked. He’s smiling too, just a hint of teeth showing. “Maybe more.”

Mason pauses for a split second, and Chase just laughs quietly to himself as he strides ahead. Mason shakes his head, and it only takes him a few long strides to catch up to the stocky detective again. “Walked right into that one,” he admits, snorting.

“You’re pretty easy,” Chase snickers. The double entendre is obvious enough neither of them need to comment. Mason’s long had his suspicions Chase finds it funny to set him up with innuendos and jokes, especially when they’re around the rest of Unit Bravo. Even Agent Kingston, more than once. The detective is damn lucky Mason’s got absolutely no shame.

They make it to Chase’s car, and Mason, of course, bitches about how tiny and beat-up it is. “How’s this thing even still running?” he demands, folding himself into the front seat. Chase, of course, has no trouble, short as he is, and he gets himself buckled in then entertains himself by watching Mason struggle to make himself comfortable with his  _ much  _ longer legs.

Chase huffs out a laugh and cranks the car easily. “Where there’s a will, some duct tape, and a mechanical engineering degree that would otherwise be collecting dust, there’s a way,” he says sagely. The car miraculously comes to life and Chase starts fiddling with the radio, raising his eyebrows at Mason as if to ask if he’s going to be a brat about it-- as he  _ very bluntly _ did last time.

Mason huffs and crosses his arms, and Chase rolls his eyes, reaching over Mason’s lap to the glove compartment to pop it open and rifle through.   
  
“Oh, shit!” he blurts, eyebrows rising as he unearths something from underneath a stack of brown fast-food napkins, a battered leather CD book, and a little folder that likely has his registration and insurance papers. “That’s where that’s been!”

Mason doesn’t get much of a look at the jewel case, just a flash of bold red and black and yellow, before it’s flipped open and Chase is stuffing the disc into the CD player. He skips a few songs, so the vampire gets a few blurts of discordant guitar, some piano, perhaps whispering, but never enough to guess what genre the album might be. He grins at Mason as he tosses the case into the backseat and pulls out of the police station’s parking lot.

Mason’s face wrinkles up as what sounds like some sort of operatic chorus starts up, then… heavy guitar. “What the  _ fuck  _ is this?”

Chase just laughs and starts singing, well, more like  _ talking _ ,  along with the vocalist.

“ _ Out from the night from the mist steps a figure. _

_ No one really knows his name for sure. _

_ He stands at six foot six, head and shoulders, _

_ Pray he never comes knocking at your door. _

_ Say that you once bought a heart or new corneas, _

_ But somehow never managed to square away your debts. _

_ He won't bother to write or to phone you... _

_ He'll just rip your still-beating heart from your chest! _ ”

Mason twists around to grab the case from the backseat.  _ Repo! The Genetic Opera _ . He flicks open the case to try and figure out what they’re listening to. He punches the skip song button, seeing the CD player is on shuffle mode.

Chase is still laughing, tapping his fingers on the steering will along with whatever snatches of songs he can catch before Mason changes it again.

“Is this a fucking musical? You listen to  _ musicals? _ ”

Chase leans forward, almost wheezing as he tries to get himself under control without taking his eyes off the road. “I told you I got a full ride to uni, right?”

A bit bewildered by the sudden change of subject, and still trying to figure out what kind of musical has songs about  _ organ harvesting _ of all things, he just says, “Yeah? What’s that got to do with anything?”

They stop at a red light and Chase turns to look at him, dark eyes shining. His face is more open than Mason’s ever seen it, his body relaxed. He pats his glove on the steering wheel again, gets distracted humming along to something about little glass vials. “Well, I dunno if you know, but you have to work your ass off to get those. You can’t just have good grades. You have to have near-perfect ones, along with shit like community service, and,” The light goes green, and he turns his attention back to the road, but he glances quickly at Mason again, one corner of his mouth twisting, “extracurricular activities.”

It dawns on Mason slowly, but when it does hit him, his jaw drops. He gawks at Chase, blurting out a disbelieving laugh. “No. Chase, you--” Another sharp laugh bubbles from his lips. “You were a fucking  _ theatre kid? _ ”

Chase’s half-grin is answer enough, and Mason completely dissolves, dragging a hand down his face and clutching the dashboard with the other. Chase reaches over and cranks the radio higher, and ordinarily Mason would be cringing away, but the detective’s laughter echoing his drowns it out, sits in his chest. Once he’s finally managed to calm down, he turns the music back down, and groans breathlessly. They’ve pulled off the main road and to the backroad leading through the forest to the warehouse by this point, and the dappled light through the trees finally allows Mason to relax into the seat without cringing away from the late-afternoon sun.

“How did you even manage that between your  _ other  _ extracurriculars?” Mason sneers,  though there’s no venom to it.

Chase straightens up in the driver’s seat, shoulders back, and slyly says, “I’m  _ very  _ good at multitasking.”  _ Another easy one. _ Mason gives a rough, low chuckle.

“Oh, I know  _ that _ , at least.” He shifts in his seat, gesturing to the radio. “So did you ever do this one?”

Chase shakes his head. “Hm? Oh, no, this was from a movie that came out after I left for uni, and it’s way too gory and dark for most school productions. Plus, all the best roles are for baritones. I’m a tenor.” He rolls his eyes hard enough Mason can see it, even in profile. “But in secondary school, I was a  _ contralto _ , because, y’know, bullshit gender roles.”

Mason scoffs. “Like I know what any of that means.”

“Keep following me around like a puppy begging for scraps, sunshine, and you’ll learn by osmosis. Don’t worry.”

Mason curls his lip at the nickname (and at the ‘begging for scraps’ comment), but supposes turnabout is fair play. “Bet Felix would have a field day knowing this,  _ sweetheart _ ,” he taunts back, already delighting in the idea of the other agent losing his mind. “Hell, Nate will probably be overjoyed, knowing you’re into the same nerdy shit he is.” He quirks a brow, listening to some of the lyrics still drifting from the radio. “Though I’m not sure he’d approve of this one.”

Chase is quiet as they pull up behind the warehouse proper, putting it in park. He turns slowly to Mason, who smirks, hoping this time he’s finally managed to get a rise out of the detective. He’s always so fun when he’s trying not to be flustered. But Chase just smirks right back, eyebrows raised challengingly. They just stare at each other for a long moment, before Chase unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over the center console. His hand slips over Mason’s, the leather of his glove warm and supple as he twists their fingers together. Mason’s heart rate spikes, his world narrowing down to those dark, sultry eyes framed by thick lashes, that little beauty mark that draws the gaze, the teasing curve of his plush lips that Mason dreams about biting when he should be focusing on work far too often. He laughs, soft and faintly  _ wicked _ .

“It’s so cute that you think anyone will believe you.” He cuts off the car, ejects the CD, and pops it into the case he slipped from Mason’s lax hands before tucking it into his jacket and leaving Mason sitting in the front seat, stunned into silence for the second time in the span of an hour. He snaps his seatbelt off once he regains himself, and hurries to follow the detective’s retreating back, laughing with breathless disbelief. “You son of a bitch!” he calls, somewhere between annoyed, impressed, and, well,  _ obviously  _ a little turned on.

Chase turns around to eye him, still smirking, walking backwards so he can taunt, “Oh, don’t let Rebecca hear you call me that, sunshine. You’re already on her shit list.” He whirls around and disappears into the warehouse.

Mason ambles along slowly, tilting his head back and looking up at the sky. He drags a hand down his face and huffs out another bemused laugh. There’s a niggling little voice at the back of his head that wonders, for a split second, what Chase sounds like when he  _ really  _ sings. But he brushes it off and hurries to catch up to him. Maybe if he distracts the detective with a bit of fondling in a dark corner, he can get that CD back from him.


End file.
